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works :

paddy pimblett : acquiesce (2 parts)

justin gaethje : sabor a mí (4/7 parts) (currently working on it)

carlos prates : dracula

charles oliveira x max holloway : ashes left behind

quillan salkilld : another day

Here she was again. This had turned into her Saturday night routine, the one thing she let herself have every week so she didn’t completely fall apart. Working reception all week drove her insane. Smiling at strangers, acting friendly, pretending everything was fine while dealing with everybody else’s problems.

But tonight… tonight was different. Or, well, this morning, technically. The sun had disappeared hours ago and still hadn’t dragged itself back up into the sky yet, and the moon hung above the park trees. The trees swayed softly, branches creaking every now and then. Australia could get weirdly quiet late at night. Not a peaceful kind of quiet. Lonely quiet.

No work tomorrow. No alarm. Tonight, she could do whatever she wanted.

The mask could finally come off. She could peel it away like suffocating skin stretched way too tight over her bones. All week it sat over her, suffocating her, keeping her trapped inside herself. But out here, with nobody looking at her, she could finally breathe properly again.

A normal Saturday night usually started with her getting home from work and trying to relax for a bit. Or trying to, anyway, until the thoughts got too loud in her head. Then she’d grab her cigarettes, her headphones, and the little pocket knife she kept tucked into her jacket. Just in case. You never knew who was hanging around parks late at night.

She’d head to the park.

Always the same park. Same bench, too.

She’d been doing this for about six months now, ever since she quit drinking.

She stopped after one particularly bad Sunday afternoon, kneeling on her bathroom floor while scrubbing puke off the bottom of the toilet bowl. It had splattered down the porcelain and dripped onto the floor because she’d barely made it there in time the night before, dizzy and half-out-of-it from how wasted she’d been.

And while she scrubbed at it with shaky hands, breathing through her mouth because the smell made her stomach twist, head pounding so badly she thought she might black out, a thought hit her out of nowhere.

What would he think if he saw you now?

That was enough. She hadn’t touched alcohol since. 

People walking through the park after midnight wasn’t unusual. Sometimes it was groups of teenagers laughing too loud before going quiet when they noticed somebody already sitting on the bench. Sometimes it was adults wandering around alone, hands shoved into pockets, taking the path in front of her without saying a word.

Everybody out here this late had something chasing them.

It felt like an unspoken rule not to bother each other.

This time, she heard him before she saw him. The sound of sneakers scraping lightly against the pavement. Her headphones weren’t playing anything, so she picked up on him from pretty far away.

What she didn’t expect was for him to actually talk to her.

She was sitting there with her hood up, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands. 

Still, he spoke anyway.

“You want one?” he asked.

His voice made her flinch a little even though she already knew he was there.

She looked up slowly, eyes red and raw from exhaustion more than crying, and saw the cigarette held out toward her. Then she glanced beside her at the empty pack she’d crushed twenty minutes earlier.

Against her better judgment, she took it without a word.

The guy gave one small nod. Then he just kept walking.

Eventually, she relaxed again.

By the time he passed by again, her cigarette had already burned down to the filter. He had one hanging from his own lips now, smoke curling around him under the streetlight.

He looked surprised to see her still sitting there.

Then he stopped again.

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie.

“You want another one?”

“Yes, please.”

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted speaking. Her voice sounded rough and tight from the pressure sitting in her throat.

But he didn’t react to it. 

The man looked at her for a second before motioning toward the empty spot beside her on the bench.

“Can I?”

From where he stood, the streetlight made it impossible to properly see his face. All she could make out was the shape of him standing there, broad shoulders under the hoodie, smoke curling around him while the pale yellow light poured over his silhouette.

For one second, he almost looked unreal. Like something heaven accidentally dropped into the middle of a random park at two in the morning.

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug.

He handed her the cigarette first, then sat down beside her.

“You look like maybe you need some company tonight, yeah?” the man said, watching her carefully.

She smirked a little. Honestly, she didn’t really have the energy for some deep conversation with a stranger, but she could at least try. She didn’t know the guy, didn’t trust him for a second either, because anybody wandering around a park in the middle of the night probably had something wrong with them. Still, it wasn’t gonna kill her to be polite, right?

“Don’t we all?” she replied quietly.

“Eh.” He pushed his hood back, revealing short dark hair, and for the first time she got a proper look at his face. “I think maybe... if you’re out this late, you wanna be alone, no?”

“I’m always out this late,” she admitted. “Helps clear my head a little.” She slipped the cigarette between her lips, lighting it before taking a slow drag. “What about you? Why’re you still awake?”

“I don’t sleep too much.” The guy shrugged. “Sometimes I go out walking. Helps me organize my day in my head, you know?” He glanced at her for a second before offering his hand. “I’m Carlos.”

“Alana.” She shook his hand, and once she let go, she pulled her hood down, revealing messy ginger hair tied back in a low ponytail. It had clearly been thrown together in a rush, just enough to stop it blowing everywhere in case there was wind.

“Nice name,” Carlos said. “And I like your hair too.”

She snorted softly, almost laughing at that.

“Thanks. Doesn’t really look like much right now.”

“Eh.” He smiled a little. “Looks like hair to me. Is good already.”

She thanked him again before taking another drag from her cigarette, eyes fixed on the concrete path ahead. What was she even supposed to say now? Even through the exhaustion weighing her down, she kept wondering what this guy actually wanted. Who even was he?

He definitely had an accent, that much she knew, though she’d always been terrible at placing them and didn’t want to make assumptions. Still, it felt a little awkward interrogating a guy about why he was out here when he’d been nothing but kind to her.

“Not very talkative, huh?” he said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She decided to just be straight with him.

“I usually am. I was just trying to figure out what I could ask that wouldn’t make me sound like a creep or like I’m trying to steal your organs in the middle of the park.”

That got a real laugh out of him. Not just a polite chuckle. It echoed through the empty park, loud and warm, and something in her chest shifted. Alana couldn’t even explain what it was exactly, but for a second, she felt good. She felt lighter. Like sunlight had suddenly broken through clouds and hit her right in the face, warmth sinking straight into her skin.

“I got one idea,” Carlos said, crushing the cigarette butt beneath the sole of his shoe. “We play question game. I ask you somethin’, you answer. Then you ask me somethin’, I answer. But if one person don’t wanna answer, then the other gotta ask embarrassing question instead.”

She blinked. “Is that an actual game or did you just make it up?”

“My friends and me probably make it up when we were younger,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’m sure somebody else in the world play this too.”

That pulled a small smile from her.

“Who starts?” she asked, feeling the familiar burn of nicotine at the back of her throat. The taste of tobacco lingered on her tongue. It felt good. Different and better from the stale taste of alcohol that would’ve been there six months ago.

“Ladies first.” Carlos nodded once.

As she tried thinking of something to ask, she caught herself staring at the tattoos peeking out beneath his hair near the side of his skull. There were more crawling along his neck too, disappearing beneath the collar of his hoodie. Definitely not the end of them. She tucked those questions away for later and settled on something simple instead.

“How old are you?”

Carlos tilted his head slightly. “How old you think I am?”

“Are there rules against answering a question with another question, or are you just making this up as you go?” Alana raised an eyebrow.

“I’m messing with you.” He laughed softly, running a hand over the short hair on his head. “I’m thirty-two years old.”

She nodded, simply acknowledging his answer. Then he rubbed his palms against his jeans and spoke.

“So, my turn now...” He glanced up at the streetlamp while he thought. “How old are you?”

Alana snorted.

“Did you just steal my question?”

“Maybe.” Carlos flashed a cheeky grin.

“I’m twenty-nine,” she replied. Then she immediately fired another question back at him. “Where are you from?”

“Brazil. Where are you from?”

“Here.”

And they kept going.

The young woman hadn't realized just how much fun the game would be, or how easy it would become to answer Carlos' questions. As hesitant as she'd been at first, she found herself settling into the conversation without even noticing. He seemed genuine. Easy to talk to.

The next time she checked her phone, the screen read five in the morning. She stared at it in disbelief.

How had that happened?

The hours had slipped by without her noticing. Somewhere along the way, Carlos had stopped feeling like a stranger she'd met in a park. He felt more like a friend. Maybe it was ridiculous to think that after only a few hours, but it was true all the same.

By the time they finally said goodbye, the sky had begun to lighten at the horizon, hinting that sunrise wasn't far away. They walked together toward the park exit before splitting off in different directions, both heading home on foot, a final cigarette hanging from their lips.

She spent her Sunday sleeping off the all-nighter and went back to work on Monday.

Alana spent the entire week shutting off her emotions, as she usually did. It came a little easier this time, though. She figured part of that was because Carlos had distracted her during what was normally the worst part of her week: Saturday night, the evening she usually reserved for feeling sorry for herself and dwelling on everything that hurt.

Strangely enough, she found herself missing him. That didn't make much sense.

He was a tourist. For all she knew, he'd already flown back home. Australia was probably just another stop. Just another goal. 

Still, she planned on going to the park the following Saturday night. She wasn't the type to break her routines.

What the young woman hated was knowing she'd be looking for him. Waiting for him, even.

When Saturday finally rolled around, she bought a fresh pack of cigarettes before heading out a little after midnight. Her headphones sat over her ears like a knight's helmet as she made her way through the quiet streets. There was a spring in her step she hadn't expected, one she tried not to think about too much.

The park was lit up, which she figured couldn't be great for the environment. The air carried a slight chill as it brushed against her cheeks. This time, her copper hair hung loose, strands swaying in the breeze as they escaped the hood of her sweatshirt.

She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected when she came here that night. Maybe nothing. Maybe too much.

The Australian sat down on her usual bench, lit a cigarette, and thought about everything that was wrong with her life.

The familiar ache settled in her stomach. Her gut twisted.

I wish Carlos was here, at least I wouldn't feel this miserable.

She waited, seemingly for no reason. Or at least that's what she told herself. It was stupid to have hope, right? He was gone. He had to have been gone. 

After an hour sitting alone beneath the streetlamp, with nobody but the insects to keep her company, she started considering going home. It was two-thirty in the morning, after all, and she probably was not going to be able to do what she usually did here now. She was too distracted.

“Hey.”

The voice cut through the silence.

Her head snapped up. Following the concrete path with her eyes, she spotted a silhouette emerging from the darkness. A tall silhouette, with an orange ember glowing near its face.

“Carlos?” she called out.

The silhouette approached at its own pace, and Alana could hardly believe it when Carlos finally stepped into the glow of the streetlight.

“I thought…” she said quietly. “I thought you'd gone home. Back to Brazil.”

“Nah."”Carlos shook his head. "Not yet." He sat down beside her on the bench. Her bench. “You waitin' for me?”

She paused at that, caught off guard. It was embarrassing to admit. “I mean... yes and no?” She pushed her hood back and let it rest against her shoulders. “I always come here, but I was wondering if you'd come back.”

Carlos nodded slowly and fell quiet for a moment, seeming lost in thought.

She watched as he took a drag from his cigarette before pulling it away with two fingers. He tapped the ash onto the ground and exhaled a stream of smoke into the cool night air. It was funny how everyone smoked differently. Some people barely seemed aware of the little habits and rituals they repeated every time.

The silence settled comfortably between them.

Then he glanced over at her. “Why you come here?”

His tone was curious, but gentle. She could tell he wasn't trying to pry.

“I come here every Saturday night because things get too much sometimes.” Alana tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It's quieter here.”

Carlos nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. “Too much in your head, huh?”

A faint smile appeared on her lips, though there wasn't much happiness behind it.

“Yeah. Too much.”

It was strange. Strange that she felt so comfortable around someone she barely knew.

Maybe it was because he felt familiar somehow. Not because they had similar lives, but because there was something lonely about him too. Something that seemed to understand without needing an explanation.

It made her want to tell him everything she'd spent years keeping locked away.

She tried not to, she really did. In the end, the words slipped out anyway.

“I scattered my son's ashes here.”

The confession was barely more than a whisper. The wind carried it up to him anyway.

She immediately regretted saying it.

When she was alone, it was easier. She could fall apart if she needed to. She could cry until her chest hurt and nobody would see it. Here, sitting next to him, the vulnerability felt unbearable.

Her nails dug into her palm hard enough to sting. Her breathing caught in her throat.

Then she felt his hand settle against her upper back. At the same time, his other hand gently took hold of hers and forced her clenched fingers to loosen.

“Breathe,” he said softly. His voice was quieter than usual. The accent was still thick, still warm. “Breathe... or cry. Or do what you gotta do. This why you come here, no?”

The young woman released a shaky breath that felt trapped somewhere deep inside her chest. “Yeah.”

She inhaled slowly and looked down at her hand resting in his.

His hand was large enough to almost swallow hers completely. She looked pale beside him under the streetlights. The freckles scattered across her skin stood out.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She didn't cry. Instead, she closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his hands, she focussed on that. She felt his presence beside her, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel completely alone.

The gratitude sitting in her chest was overwhelming, but she still couldn't trust her voice enough to say it out loud.

After a while, Carlos spoke again. 

“I got a daughter.”

Alana opened her eyes and looked at him.

“She's here in Australia. I don't see her too much because of work.”

His hand continued making slow circles against her back.

“It's not the same thing. I know that.” He paused. “But I can understand a little bit. I don't know what I do if I lose her.”

His gaze remained fixed somewhere ahead of them.

“I'm sorry.” Another pause. “You're strong for still being here.”

Alana swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

The cigarette between Carlos's fingers had burned almost down to the filter. Looking at it made her realize she needed one too.

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from his. The hand on her back slipped away as well as she reached into the front pocket of her hoodie and rummaged around for a moment.

Finally, she pulled out two cigarettes. Without saying a word, she handed one to him before bringing the other to her lips and lighting it.

That night, they smoked and shared childhood stories, shoulder to shoulder, thigh against thigh on the bench. No question game this time. She'd already answered enough for one night. It felt strange to want to cry, yet not be able to. Not because of shame, but because she felt accepted. She didn't feel judged. She felt supported.

Supported by this stranger who, little by little, was starting to feel more like a friend than a stranger.

She didn't feel unsafe with him. She didn't feel threatened or uncertain. She felt... known. Understood in a way she hadn't expected from a random Brazilian guy she met in a park.

They parted ways just before sunrise, like they had the time before. She found it oddly funny. Both times they had met, Carlos had been the one to glance at the sky and point out that maybe it was time to call it a night. Almost like he was some kind of vampire, wary of the sun in case it turned him to ash.

Alana was surprised the following week when she headed to the park with a small flutter of anticipation in her stomach. The feeling itself was strange considering what the park's original purpose had been for her; a catalyst. Yet there it was, undeniable. What surprised her even more was finding Carlos already sitting on their bench when she arrived.

“Carlos?”  she asked, eyebrows knitting together. “I know you said you don't sleep much, but... did you even sleep at all?”

She was in a good mood.

Carlos, on the other hand, looked exhausted.

“Couldn't sleep,” he said with a shrug, and she dropped down beside him.

“You're going to fall asleep on that bench, and I'm definitely not carrying you home.”

She shook her head, and the brunet smiled faintly.

“Nah. But if I fall asleep, you just wake me, yeah?”

Then their little ritual began.

They lit a cigarette and started talking about their week. Alana complained about work, about how boring it had been, and about the countless little things that had nearly pushed her to quit. Carlos talked about the places he'd visited, the things he'd seen, the food he'd tried, and whatever had caught his attention during the week.

The first hour passed quickly. Maybe too quickly.

There was a natural back-and-forth between them, easier than what she shared with some of her closest friends. Sometimes she caught herself thinking that she might have found a version of herself living in a completely different body.

By the second hour, Carlos had started yawning.

At first, Alana didn't mention it. Whenever she was tired, she could usually push through it without much trouble. Carlos, however, didn't seem built the same way.

“Carlos, you sure you don't want to head home?” she asked after another yawn escaped him.

He shook his head without saying a word. To her surprise, something tightened in her chest.

If he wouldn't go to sleep, then she'd bring the sleep to him.

That was the conclusion her brain settled on.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Put your head here. Come on.” She gestured toward her lap. “You can let your legs hang off the bench. That's what you get for refusing to go home.”

Alana laughed softly.

“Really?” Carlos asked, looking genuinely surprised as his eyes dropped to her lap.

She patted it again in encouragement.

After a moment's hesitation, he gave in. He shifted closer, stretched his legs along the bench with his feet hanging off the end, and slowly lowered himself until he was lying down with his head resting on her lap.

The young woman took a drag from her cigarette, holding it between the fingers of her left hand. She wasn't quite sure what to do with her right one. After a moment, she settled it lightly on Carlos's chest, just above where his own hands were folded together.

He looked like he was lying in some kind of coffin.

Which, considering her vampire theory, was pretty funny.

“Can we share?” Carlos asked, pointing toward her cigarette.

“Sure.” Alana shrugged before lifting it to his lips, still holding it between her fingers. She watched the tip glow orange as he took a drag, then pulled it back and inhaled herself.

“Can I tell you something...” the Brazilian started.

He sounded tired.

“Mh?” she prompted.

He wasn't looking at her. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere ahead, at the starry sky, lost in thought.

“I like being alone, you know? I like waking up alone. I like not having somebody telling me what to do. I like doing what I want. But... sometimes, like now, I'm happy like this. I feel... less alone.”

She nodded.

“Yeah. I'm like that too. I like being able to do whatever I want. But I’ll admit, I like you, Carlos. You make me feel less lonely. Being alone is fine. It's the loneliness that's hard. I just don't like everything that comes with being with someone, relationship stuff and all that. But you're like...” She paused, searching for the right words. “You're like a really good friend. I like that you understand me.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He unwound his hands and reached for hers.

It felt nice.

Different from the last time he'd taken her hand.

This was gentle, warm, almost hesitant, like he was testing the boundary between them. It wasn't comfort offered out of necessity. It was affection given freely.

The redhead smiled and stubbed out the cigarette against the metal structure of the bench. With her free hand, she cupped the side of his head.

She missed this kind of care.

Missed giving it.

She could feel the short strands of his hair beneath her palm. After a moment, she ran her fingers through it, watching his eyelids grow heavier, opening and closing just a little more slowly each time. She kept going, her fingers brushing close to his scalp. With the hand holding hers, Carlos slowly rubbed his thumb across the back of it.

She smiled.

“Alana?” he said after a while.

“Yes, Carlos?”

“I won't be here next Saturday night.” He glanced down at their joined hands. “Maybe I come later, I don't know yet. Can I get your number?”

“Sure,” she replied.

No questions asked.

She understood.

They were what they were, and she didn't need to know every detail.

“Where’s your phone?” she asked.

“In my hoodie pocket,” he mumbled.

She moved her hand from his hair, not wanting to let go of his other hand even though it would've been easier, and pulled out his phone. She held it up so he could unlock it with Face ID before opening the contacts app.

She created a new contact with her number, sent herself a message, then locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

Instead of returning her hand to his hair right away, she took a moment to study his face.

His eyes were heavy with sleep. His nose was slightly crooked. His lips were full. His skin was clear. He was handsome.

With a light touch, feather-soft and barely there, she traced the slope of his nose. Her fingers drifted down around his mouth, brushed along the angle of his jaw, then traveled back up to his cheekbone.

“Go to sleep, Carlos,” Alana whispered.

He swallowed. Opened his eyes again and, with his free hand, reached for the strings of her hoodie, giving them a gentle tug.

She saw it in his eyes.

She understood.

Allowing herself to be pulled closer, she leaned down until her face hovered just above his. Then she pressed a quick, tender kiss to his lips.

“Good night,” she told him before sitting back up and continuing her quiet exploration of his face as his eyes finally closed for good.

His breathing gradually slowed.

She stayed there.

She watched him with that warm feeling sitting deep in her chest, that rare sense of belonging she hadn't felt in a very long time. And the feeling that somehow, in the empty space beside her on the bench, there was a little boy sitting with his legs swinging back and forth, freckles scattered across his cheeks as he watched over her.

Her guardian angel.

A couple of hours later, Carlos woke to find her fighting sleep as the sun began creeping over the horizon. He slowly unfolded himself from the position he'd fallen asleep in, stretching with a groan, and together they decided it was time to head home.

This time, though, they didn't part ways at the entrance to the park.

No.

He stayed with her until her apartment building came into view, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked through the quiet early-morning streets.

When they stopped outside, he said goodbye with a quick kiss.

She didn't expect him to text during the week because she knew he probably wouldn't. They both had their own lives, their own routines.

Then, on Saturday night, her phone buzzed.

A picture.

A selfie of him wearing his fight gear, already wrapped up and ready to go.

Three words.

See you later.

She replied with the same.

And when they met at the bench at four in the morning, it was with a slightly drunk and limping Carlos, a medical boot strapped to his injured foot, and a proud-looking Alana waiting for him.

The first thing she asked him?

“How's the other guy?”

Carlos grinned.